


Distraction

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts Era, M/M, PWP, no plot in sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-10
Updated: 2007-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The objective is to spy, but Harry becomes distracted and has to deal with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine.  
> **Warnings:** Strong language, sexual situations, run-on sentences, an overabundance of ellipses and brackets, AU-ish, no plot in sight

One stray drop of water slowly slides down Malfoy’s bare back, over perfect, pale skin that’s moist from steam and soap and…

Harry’s mesmerized gaze travels lower. His breath catches in his throat.

Then panic sets in. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be…

Quickly, he staggers backwards, almost tripping over his Cloak as he practically flees the shower room.

Outside, Ron enquires, “Did you see?”

Harry looks as rattled as he is. “See what?”

“Does Malfoy have the Mark?”

“I… don’t know,” Harry stammers, suddenly feeling twice the idiot he did before.

He never even looked at Malfoy‘s arm.

* * *

** Two days later **

“So, did you enjoy the view, Potter?”

The words are harsh and mocking, and Harry would recognize that voice anywhere.

Startled, he turns around, suddenly painfully aware that he’s alone here in this dungeon room, all alone with Malfoy, who clearly _knows_.

But how could he know, Harry wonders? How is that even possible? He was wearing his Invisibility Cloak, wasn’t he? And he never made a single sound.

He doesn’t have to ponder on the subject for very long. “Detection spell, Potter,” Malfoy says flatly, and Harry realizes he could probably have figured that out for himself, had he not been so distracted.

Come to think of it, he’s getting distracted again now too, and he can’t for the life of him remember when exactly his long-term rival became this fascinating or (if he’s completely honest about it) so utterly breathtaking to look at.

Maybe it’s the hair, Harry muses. It looks a lot better now that it’s longer and not slicked back anymore. And those beautiful grey eyes… They keep drawing him in as well. They’re really far too beautiful, too enchanting to belong to someone, who... Someone, who…

“Well, Potter? Kneazle got your tongue?”

And so Malfoy’s standing there, his arms crossed, still waiting for an answer, and Harry knows that he should probably say something, anything, hurry up and break this silence that’s getting thick and sort of scary, and… Clearly, Gryffindor courage means bugger all in a situation such as this.

“It’s rude to ignore someone who’s asking you a perfectly simple question, you realize,” Malfoy points out. “Almost as rude as spying on people when they’re naked, in fact.” He lets out a wicked chuckle and adds, “Who’d have thought that The Boy Who Lived is really The Boy Who Likes To Watch Other Boys In The Shower? I’d hate to imagine what The Daily Prophet would make of that little revelation.”

“I… I,” Harry stammers, turning a deep shade of red. “I… didn’t… I don’t…. I… ”

Draco sneers triumphantly and slowly saunters towards his classmate. “Oh, but you did, Potter,” he says with a predatory grin, “and you _do_.”

For every step the Slytherin takes forward, the Gryffindor takes one back, until Harry suddenly realizes that he’s trapped. Behind him is a wall and in front of him stands Malfoy, and there’s nowhere else to go, nowhere left to run. Panicking slightly, Harry rummages through his pockets and then he looks down at the floor, baffled. So when and how did he drop his wand? Yet another question he doesn’t know the answer to today.

“Tell me, Potter,” a husky voice (that’s really much too close to his ear) says as hot breath ghosts over his cheek, making him shiver. “Did it get you off, watching me? Did it make you wonder what it would be like to actually touch me? Did it make you regret turning me down all those years ago? Did it make you think about what we could have had, probably would have had if you hadn’t been such a self-righteous little twerp?”

Harry gulps. He tries to ignore the way his cock is reacting to the other boy’s proximity and to the hoarse, seductive way those words were spoken.

He grits his teeth, determined not to let Malfoy get the better of him. He can handle this, he assures himself. It’s not too late, not yet. He’ll simply push the Slytherin away, pick up his wand, Petrify the arrogant git, and then he’ll run back up to the Tower… It’s the perfect plan. It can’t possibly fail.

Harry braces himself. He looks up.

Grey eyes regard him challengingly. “I’m waiting, Potter,” Malfoy says, his tone snide and condescending.

And Harry takes a deep breath, deciding that he really shouldn’t have to put up with this, no matter how awkward the situation is, and never mind how hot Malfoy looks right now, as he’s standing there all furious and confrontational and dominant and … “Oh, fuck it!”

Harry lifts his arms, dead set on pushing Malfoy away (yes, really, he _is_), but then he’s suddenly pulling the boy to him instead, and he has no idea how that even happened.

But it’s not too late yet. He can still win this. Right?

“I’m not afraid of you,” Harry declares roughly, his hands gripping Malfoy’s shoulders forcefully, his nails digging deep into the Slytherin's shirt, clawing the skin underneath.

“Prove it,” Malfoy breathes against Harry’s lips. “It’s about time you put your money where you mouth is, Potter. Or rather, _isn’t_.”

“Fine,” Harry snarls. “_Fine._ Have it your way.” And then he puts his mouth on Malfoy’s.

He doesn’t know (no, not in the slightest) why that suddenly seemed like the only course of action that made any sense, and a few seconds later, he’s not sure either whether it’s an attempt to protest or quite the opposite that has Malfoy parting his lips.

But truth be told, at that point, Harry doesn’t exactly care either. He’s already too far gone, too caught up in what he’s doing, and for now, he has completely lost the capacity to think.

He shoves his tongue inside that warm, wet, waiting mouth, and he deepens the kiss until it turns rough and passionate, and the experience is nothing like that one time when he kissed Cho last year.

He wouldn’t have done this with Cho. He never felt the need to, but now…

_Now_…

Malfoy moans deeply, and the sound shoots straight to Harry’s cock. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Harry wonders whether he’s supposed to get this turned on by another boy and then he suddenly feels Malfoy’s hands on his hipbones, pinning him against the wall and holding him in place.

He doesn’t immediately understand what that’s all about and he almost panics again too, because amazing though this may be (and it is – _Sweet Merlin, how it is…_), this whole thing is also very sudden and unexpected and entirely too overwhelming and… Harry gasps when the purpose of Malfoy’s actions finally becomes clear. The Slytherin is moving his hips now, letting his own clothed erection slide against Harry’s, and the delicious friction these movements cause isn’t like anything the Gryffindor has ever felt before.

Moaning deeply, all Harry can think is, _Oh fuck. Don’t Stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop._

He deepens the kiss even further, and then he moves his hands down to cup Malfoy’s behind, pulling the boy closer, as close to him as he can possibly manage.

Harry realizes he won’t last much longer, not like this. He interrupts the kiss for a moment, just to catch his breath, and he finds himself gazing into a pair of lust filled grey eyes.

“Go on then, Potter,” Malfoy whispers hoarsely, “don’t stop now. Finish what you started. Or are you _scared_?”

“Like hell I’m scared, Malfoy,” Harry retorts firmly, with all the composure he can still manage, and he starts to buck his hips back and forth, hard and fast, and it doesn’t take long before he’s completely caught up in a thrilling, delicious battle of tongues and friction, sucking and thrusting; the pleasure and intensity rising by the minute, until finally, he can’t take it anymore.

With a deep guttural groan, Harry reaches completion, his climax hard and intense and absolutely brilliant.

Mere seconds later, he feels Malfoy grinding against him frantically, desperately, until the boy cries out something incomprehensible, shudders, and then too, stills.

And all Harry can think is, ‘Wow’ and ‘Bloody hell’ and a few other things along the same lines, and he briefly wonders if Malfoy actually meant to take things this far.

“Come on,” Draco whispers, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “Let’s sit down, before we keel over.” He carefully pulls the Gryffindor to the floor with him and then he casts a cleaning spell on them both.

After that, they sit in silence for a while, waiting for their ragged breathing to return to normal, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts and theories about what they just did and what the consequences might be.

Harry is the first to speak again. “I should probably leave,” he says quietly, “before my friends get back.”

The truth is that Ron and Hermione won’t return for hours, but Harry doesn’t want to impose, and besides, he thinks it’s better if he leaves on his own accord. He doesn’t feel like being sent away. It would spoil the memory of what just happened.

“Why aren’t you with them anyhow?” Draco asks, sounding oddly calm and neutral, and surprisingly not seizing the opportunity to get rid of the Gryffindor.

“I…” Harry looks down at his hands. He wonders if it would be such a good idea to tell the truth, but then he decides that it couldn’t possibly do any more damage than getting off with someone he supposedly loathes. “My aunt and uncle wouldn’t give me permission to go to Hogsmeade,” he says softly.

“Oh?” Draco frowns. “You’ll be seventeen this summer. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to forge a signature?”

“I never thought of it,” Harry admits and he has to ask himself why he didn’t. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to imitate Aunt Petunia’s scrawl. “Why aren’t you with your friends?” he then asks Draco, because admittedly, it is a little unusual that the Slytherin stayed behind all by himself.

“I told them I had a headache,” he replies with a shrug.

“Why?”

Draco grins wryly. “Do you know what it’s like, Potter,” he says, “to have someone trailing after you like a lovesick puppy, and you like them, really you do, just not like _that_?”

At those words, Harry can’t help but think about Ginny, who’s a sweet, smart, beautiful girl, and according to some, she would be his ideal match, but the fact of the matter is that she does absolutely nothing for him in the love or lust department. Without hesitation, he replies, “Yes.”

“Well,” Draco continues, “then I’m sure you’ll understand that I’d rather not spend an entire afternoon in Pansy Parkinson’s company.”

Harry just nods and soon an amicable silence sets in; something Harry finds rather strange. Shouldn’t they already be going their separate ways? Or does Malfoy want to be friends now or maybe turn this into a regular thing?

The very thought of more has Harry’s heart racing. He wouldn’t mind doing this again. Actually, there are some other things he wouldn’t mind doing with Draco either, and he supposes it’s fine to admit that now, if only to himself.

Nervously, he clears his throat. “What happens now?” he asks, because he has to. Giving yourself false hope isn’t the Gryffindor way.

“How do you mean?” Draco enquires.

“Well, um…” Harry hesitates, before he says, “I suppose we’ll go back to fighting tomorrow… Won’t we?”

“Is that what you want?”

Harry hopes it’s a good sign that the other boy seems so guarded, like he’s almost afraid to give any kind of direct answer. “Do _you_?” he asks carefully.

Draco smirks. “Well, I have to admit,” he says matter-of-factly, “that something has to be said about how enticing you are when you’re practically fuming with rage.”

“Look who’s talking. You’re really hot when you…,” Harry begins, but he instantly shuts up again when he notices the amused glance the Slytherin is giving him.

“You know, Potter,” Draco points out dryly, “going from fighting to frottage over the course of an afternoon I can handle, but a before we set up a mutual appreciation society, maybe we should give ourselves a little more time to get used to… well… whatever _this_ is?”

Harry frowns for a moment, not sure what to make of that remark, but then he notices that the boy next to him is grinning. Relieved and inexplicably happy, Harry grins back and soon he finds himself laughing, and then Draco’s laughing too, and it’s the first time they’re actually laughing together, and all Harry can think is that he definitely wants more of this in his future as well.

Impulsively, he grabs Draco’s hand. He fully expects the boy to pull away and make some sarcastic remark about how holding hands is something for girls, but Draco doesn’t. Instead, he just leans back against the wall and once again, the two of them settle into silence.

Harry has no idea what he started and he doesn’t have a single clue of what comes next either, but he likes it anyway. And he has a feeling that Draco does, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry whispers the password and quietly opens the door, shrugging off his cloak as he enters the dungeon room.

The first sight to greet him is Draco. The boy is lying on his stomach in the middle of the large four-poster bed, reading some thick book about Ancient Runes. He flicks his fringe out of his face, looks up at his visitor and points out dryly, “You’re early, Potter.”

“Um yeah.” Harry coughs nervously. “I didn’t want to go up to the Tower right after practice or I’d have been stuck there forever. Ron’s in one of his moods… Hermione gave him some lecture about writing his own papers and she had a point, but… um, anyway, I could come back later if right now isn’t convenient?”

Draco smirks. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He puts his book on the nightstand, and pats the bed beside him.

Harry smiles. He thinks it’s probably not a good idea to admit that he’s really early because he couldn’t wait another hour before coming here.

He misses Draco during the day, and he’s growing more and more fond of the boy too, even though that’s probably not very wise, all things considered.

They’ve been getting together regularly for about two months now, and they soon moved their meetings to Draco’s room, which gives them a lot more privacy and comfort.

The two of them don’t talk much. Then again, they don’t fight anymore either, not even for appearances’ sake.

During the day, they ignore each other, and after classes, they meet here, and kiss and touch and do a few more other things besides, as they both grow bolder and more comfortable with one another, at least on a physical level.

“Do you have a lot of homework?” Harry asks as he joins the other boy on the bed.

Draco shakes his head. “It’s all done. You?”

“I did mine over lunch. Hermione was very proud of me.”

“Oh, I’ll bet. Though I have a feeling--” Draco puts his hand on Harry’s knee. “--that she wouldn’t be quite as impressed if she found out what you get up to after hours, and with whom.”

“Probably not,” Harry agrees sheepishly.

“So…” Draco slowly walks his fingers up Harry’s thigh. “Ready to play?”

“Hm.” Harry grins. “Definitely.”

“Good,” Draco says and he leans in for a deep, lingering kiss.

Harry responds with fervor. He’s been looking forward to this all day. No, if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s been looking forward to this ever since he left here last night.

What is it about Malfoy that he can’t seem to get enough of him, Harry wonders? It’s almost as if the strong, burning hatred that was there before has flipped on its head and turned into a fierce, raging desire.

But then, Harry thinks, that’s probably what did happen. It’s the only plausible explanation he can come up with; aside from the fact that Draco is easily the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, so is it any wonder that he’s completely hooked?

The next thing Harry's aware of is that there are warm, soft hands wandering into his robes and underneath his t-shirt.

“Something tells me you’re just a tad overdressed,” Draco whispers.

“Yeah. I think so too.”

Harry unbuttons his robes and shrugs them off, and then he’s sitting there, dressed in a similar attire as Malfoy; except Malfoy’s pants are tailored and a lot more expensive, and his t-shirt actually fits. It’s not some fat cousin’s hand-me-down like Harry’s is. And Harry’s suddenly very grateful that Malfoy has yet to make fun of his clothes. So far, the Slytherin hasn’t mentioned them once, not even that hideous lumberjack shirt from the other day.

Harry briefly looks at Draco’s arms. There’s no Dark Mark anywhere.

He was very pleased and incredibly relieved when he made that discovery on the third night the two of them fooled around. Malfoy stripped down to his boxers, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and Harry’s stomach did something of a somersault at the sight.

Draco grins. “Raise your arms, Potter.”

Harry does as he’s asked. His shirt is lifted over his head and soon a warm tongue slowly licks its way down his neck. When it reaches his left nipple, Harry moans loudly, tangling his hands in Draco’s hair.

He’s never told him as much, but Harry loves Draco’s hair. The way it looks, its pure white colour that’s almost not a colour at all, and the way it feels, all silky-soft between his fingers.

Malfoy’s skin is soft too. Unusually so for a boy, Harry thinks. And then he moans again as Draco goes back to playing with his sensitive nipples, slowly rubbing his thumb over one and sucking on the other.

Then the Slytherin’s hands slide lower to undo Harry’s trousers.

“You know,” Harry says breathlessly. “This isn’t very fair. I can’t… be the only one here naked.”

Draco chuckles deviously. “Slytherins don’t play fair, Potter. You should know that by now. Incidentally, how did you do on your Potions essay?”

Harry almost laughs. Who would ask a question like that at a time like this? Malfoy, of course. “Pretty good,” he answers. “I suppose I should thank you for helping me, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, that would be the polite thing to do.” He pulls Harry’s pants down and then off, and he flings them over a chair close to the bed.

“Um…” Harry frowns. “How do you want me to thank you?”

“Well,” Draco says matter-of-factly, waggling his eyebrows, “you could let me shag you.”

Harry blinks. “Shag me?” he blurts out. Baffled, he looks at Malfoy, only to find that the boy is grinning at him smugly.

“Don’t look so horrified, Potter. I was only joking. You know, taunting you. We used to do a lot of that, if you recall.”

Harry nods slowly, wondering why he feels more disappointed than relieved right now.

Not that he really has to wonder. At this point, actual sex would only be the next step. A large step, definitely, but then they seem to have done practically everything else. And Harry has already thought about it as well, fantasized, touched himself thinking about going all the way with his… enemy-turned-lover, or whatever the status of their relationship is now, assuming it’s any kind of relationship at all.

Harry supposes he shouldn’t be surprised when it turns out that his emotions were written all over his face again.

“You thought I was serious, didn’t you?” Draco asks bluntly.

Harry bites his lip, before emitting a soft, careful “Yes.”

“And you look put-out that I wasn’t,” Draco continues. He stops touching Harry completely and runs a hand through his own hair. He regards the Gryffindor quizzically for a few moments and then asks, “Are you?”

“Am I,” Harry mutters, suddenly feeling awkward and hot and anything but the brave Gryffindor he supposedly is.

“Potter,” Draco says again, somewhat irritably this time. “A yes or no will suffice, and either is fine with me. Let’s not turn this into some major issue. I thought the objective of all this-” He gestures between them. ”--was to have fun.”

“Yeah. Um…” Harry blushes. Then he takes a deep, steadying breath and says softly, “Honestly, Malfoy, I wouldn’t mind if we, I mean, if you… um, you know.”

“Right.” Draco sits there for a full minute, looking utterly gobsmacked.

Harry hasn’t the faintest idea what to make of that, but he’s suddenly overcome with nerves. Are they actually going to do this? Is he even ready?

Back in fifth year, just over a year ago now, he kissed Cho. Once. And that’s the full extent of his experience before he started this… whatever-it-is with Malfoy.

Harry wonders if he should tell the other boy, but the truth is that he’s scared. Very much so.

What if Malfoy laughs at him? The boy seems so much more experienced at this sort of thing than Harry is, and what if the fact that Harry’s still a virgin puts him off, or – even worse, what if it makes him feel obligated to get into some kind of emotional commitment he wants nothing to do with?

Then these trysts would undoubtedly stop, and Harry would miss them a great deal. And he’d miss Draco even more. He’s become rather attached to the Slytherin, although he knows that’s probably not the smartest thing he’s ever done.

Harry’s pulled out of his reverie when Draco presses a light kiss against his left cheek. “If you want to get shagged, Potter,” the boy whispers, “who am I to refuse you?”

And Harry shivers. He watches how Draco removes his own clothes, strips down completely, and Harry’s almost breathless at seeing the boy naked, even if it isn’t the first time. _Fuck, you’re beautiful,_ he thinks.

And Draco returns to his earlier ministrations.

Harry moans when a warm, wet tongue runs over his left nipple and he practically cries out when Draco’s fingers start to stroke his cock, slowly, lightly, and almost teasingly.

Then Draco mutters some kind of incantation and all of a sudden, Harry feels something wet and slightly cold seeping out of him.

“Lubrication spell,” Draco explains, noticing the astonished look on the other boy’s face. “I don’t have any actual lube here, and besides…” He kisses a trail down Harry’s chest and then his abdomen. “This way, I don’t have to stop what I’m doing either.”

Harry whimpers when Draco’s tongue swirls around his navel. “No,” he says, breathing hard. “Please… don’t… stop what you’re doing.”

Draco grins. He carefully pushes a finger inside Harry, who cries out and arches off the bed as something inside of him that he didn’t even know about is stimulated.

"Oh God." Harry moans. He almost feels like he can’t breathe.

Then a second finger enters him, and Draco’s tongue travels down to his cock.

Harry knows he’s moaning and groaning and being far too loud about it, and he really hopes, with all his heart, that Draco didn’t forget about the Muffling Charms. Otherwise, they can surely hear him in the Common Room right now - the Hufflepuff Common Room.

Draco pauses for a moment. “Ready?” he asks.

“Yes. I… think so.”

“Good. Roll over onto your stomach,” Draco whispers, slowly pulling out his fingers, "and lift your hips a little. I want to keep playing with your dick when I’m inside you.”

“Okay.” Harry changes his position, and a little later, he can feel Draco entering him. It’s slightly uncomfortable and there’s some pain involved, but it’s not as bad as he thought it would be.

“Alright?” Draco asks.

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Right.” Draco wraps his hand around Harry’s cock and begins to move, slowly thrusting in and out. “Let me know when I hit the right spot,” he says.

“Hm.” Harry has barely murmured his agreement and already, he’s screaming in pleasure.

“Well.” Draco chuckles. “That was quick.”

Harry grins. “Um, yeah,” he says sheepishly. “You got it.”

“No kidding, Potter.” Draco laughs softly. He kisses the back of Harry’s neck. “Here we go, then,” he whispers. “If you’re ready?”

“Gah. Fuck. _Yes._ Move.”

Draco nods. He starts to move faster, in and out, as he pumps Harry’s cock frantically, all the while making delicious noises that almost send his lover over the edge.

Harry’s glad to realize that it no longer hurts. It just feels incredibly, amazingly good. Going by nothing but instinct, he begins to move as well, back and forth, pushing back against Draco and then thrusting into the boy’s hand.

This causes Draco to moan deeply and increase the pace even further.

They're both breathing hard now, and Harry knows it won't be much longer before he loses control.

“Guh… _Harry_.”

Hearing his given name uttered like that is the Gryffindor’s undoing. “Draco,” he says brokenly, before he reaches completion with a moan-shout.

A few seconds later, Draco shudders above him and cries out in climax.

Another kiss is dropped on Harry’s shoulder and then Draco slides out and rolls off of him.

Harry lets out a deep sigh. That was phenomenal. He closes his eyes. He’s heard that a first time generally isn’t good, but this... And it’ll only get better? Is that even possible? He grins into the pillow. He’s never felt so giddy or sated in his whole life.

“Are you still with me, Potter?” Draco asks when some silent moments have passed. He sounds a little worried.

“Hm,” Harry murmurs dreamily. “Don’t know if I can move yet, though.”

“Yes, about that,” Draco says awkwardly. “I tried to hold back, but it was… Well, they say the first time is a bit… overwhelming… and you were so… loud… I hope I wasn’t too rough with you.” He nervously runs a hand through his hair and seems afraid to meet Harry’s eyes. He looks nothing like his usual arrogant self.

“Wait.” Harry swallows hard. “This was your first time?” he asks, baffled.

Draco nods. “Problem?” he enquires, suddenly sounding defensive again.

“No.” Harry grins. “It’s just... It was my first time too.”

Draco looks at least as surprised as Harry was a few moments ago. “Really?”

“Yeah. All I ever did before you and I started… well… was a kiss with Cho and that wasn’t exactly… um, anything to write home about. Not that I would… um, write home about it, I mean… The Dursleys aren’t exactly…” Harry realizes he’s rambling, so he immediately shuts up again.

“I’m your first,” Draco says softly, unable to stop the smile that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Draco reaches for his wand and casts a cleaning spell on them both. Then he holds out his arms and whispers, “C’me here.”

Harry frowns in surprise. He’s usually the one to instigate any kind of affection between them (before, during or afterwards), and whenever he does, he always gets the impression that Draco only goes along with it because it would be a mood breaker not to, not because he actually craves that sort of thing, himself.

This time it’s different, though. Suddenly, everything seems different.

Harry moves into waiting arms and rests his head against the other boy’s chest. He looks up to see Draco smile at him again, and he sighs happily. He doesn’t feel like leaving, but he knows he’ll have to go up to the Tower again soon. He always does.

But then Draco suggests in a whisper, “Stay the night?”

Harry’s not sure he heard that correctly. “What?”

“Sleep here?” Draco says, sounding just a little bit unsure of himself. “I could probably get you pancakes in the morning. You don’t have classes before noon on Fridays either, right?”

“No. I don’t.” Harry grins. “And where would you get pancakes from?”

“The kitchen, obviously. I’m a Slytherin. I have my methods.”

“I’m sure you do.” Harry chuckles. “Alright.” He takes off his glasses and carefully puts them on the nightstand. “I’ll stay.”

“Good.” Draco briefly ruffles Harry’s hair, and whispers, “Sleep well.”

Harry closes his eyes. He realizes that he’s falling fast and a little voice inside his head that sounds a lot like Hermione reminds him that this is really a very bad idea. After all, this is Malfoy, and no matter how good the physical side of things is, it’s not like he actually has any kind of future with this boy. They’re on opposite ends of pretty much everything, and they both have a lot to lose if this ever gets out.

Harry feels a soft kiss on his forehead and then Draco pulls him even closer.

Harry smiles.

Something tells him that he’s not the only one here who’s falling and maybe, somehow, they’ll find a way to make this work.


	3. Chapter 3

Upon waking, Harry finds himself all alone in the middle of the large bed. He reaches for his glasses and looks around, a little surprised at how bright the room is.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Draco says with a broad grin. The boy emerges from the bathroom, wearing black trousers and a green shirt, and Harry has to stop himself from staring.

“If you’d like to take a shower,” Draco announces, “now would be a good time to do so. Greg just went down to the kitchen to fetch our breakfast.”

Harry smiles. He finds the idea of one of Malfoy’s lackeys working for him pretty funny. He wonders if Goyle even realizes whom Draco spent the night with. Probably not.

“That sounds like a plan,” Harry says and gets out of bed.

* * *

When Harry returns, dressed in some of Draco’s clothes because the Slytherin insisted that no one should wear the same outfit for two days in a row, the first thing he notices is the delicious smell in the room. Blueberry pancakes.

“You know,” Draco remarks as Harry makes his way to the small table and sits down across from him, “you should do that more often.”

Harry frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Wear things that fit,” Draco says off-handedly. “I’d offer to take you shopping some time, but that would probably rouse suspicion and lumber us both with the kind of questions neither of us needs.”

“Yeah. I'm sure it would.”

“You have your own money though, don’t you?” Draco asks. “From what I’ve heard, your parents left you quite a bit...”

“Yes.” Harry sighs. “But I can’t touch a Knut of it before I come of age.”

“Ah.” Draco cuts his pancake into tiny, triangular pieces. “That’s unfortunate.”

Harry just nods, thinking that ‘unfortunate’ doesn’t quite cover it.

“Well, on the upside, Potter…” Draco grins. “At least the street urchin look works very well for you.”

“Hey.” Harry playfully pinches Draco in the arm, and grins at him again, and when Draco grins back, Harry’s heart begins to flutter. All he can think is that no one else has ever made him feel like this.

“Alright, Potter?” Draco asks, noticing the Gryffindor’s vacant look.

“Hm,” Harry murmurs.

“We should do this more often, don’t you think?”

“Have pancakes?”

“Yes. That too, I suppose. Actually, I was referring more to what we did last night." Draco waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and adds, "It’s my turn next, you know.”

“Your turn?” Harry blinks and the moment understanding sinks in, a blush creeps up his cheeks. “Oh.”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Draco says softly, and some disappointment seeps through, much as he tries to prevent it.

“Oh, I want to,” Harry blurts out. Just thinking about _that_ makes him want to drag Draco back to bed, but he knows they haven’t the time now and besides, this is nice too; sitting here together, having breakfast. It almost makes their _arrangement_ feel like an actual relationship, as opposed to a sequence of _meetings_.

“Potter?” Draco waves a hand in front of the Gryffindor’s face. “Are you still in there somewhere?”

“Sorry.” Harry grins. He looks down at the long fingers trailing over his arm. “I was just thinking that this is… _nice_.”

“Yes, it is.” Draco takes Harry’s hand, brings it to his lips and kisses its knuckles, one by one. “Very nice.”

“Um. Draco?” Harry begins carefully.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Are we---” He takes a deep breath. “Is this… um?”

Draco frowns. “What?” he snaps.

He always gets tetchy when he’s insecure or worried. Harry realizes that now. Had he known about it earlier too, maybe that would have saved them both a lot of strife.

“I was just wondering where we erm… stand now,” Harry says quietly, hoping he hasn’t made some big mistake, rushed things, ruined them. He bites his lip and looks at Draco expectantly.

“Well… I…” The Slytherin clears his throat. “Initially, I thought we’d just have a bit of fun together, work off some pent-up tension, that sort of thing, but…”

“But?” Harry holds his breath.

“We’ve kind of moved on from that now, haven’t we?”

Harry exhales audibly and then he smiles. “Yes, I think so too.”

Draco nods slowly. “So I suppose that means you and I are… _involved_, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” Harry pauses a long moment, before asking carefully, “And you’re alright with that?”

“You aren’t?” The snippiness and insecurity return, be it only briefly.

“Yes, yes, I am… I really… I like you a lot, Draco, I mean I …”

“Shh.” Draco leans over and gently kisses Harry on the lips. “Contrary to popular belief, I like you too, you prat. Now finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Harry grins. He feels like shouting this from the Astronomy Tower, but he knows he can't. Not yet. Not before Voldemort and other _complications_ have been taken care of.

So he just cuts another piece off his pancake, brings it to his mouth and chews slowly. Then he glances at Draco and smiles.

Looking uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden, Draco smiles back.


	4. Chapter 4

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you, Potter?” Draco says with a smirk. “I strongly suggest you don’t get any crumbs between the sheets, though.”

Harry grins. He’s sitting on Draco’s bed, flicking through a Quidditch magazine and munching on a biscuit. “I’ll have you know, Malfoy," he points out, "that I even threw the wrapper in the waste paper basket earlier.”

“Oh good. There might be hope for you yet.”

Harry shakes his head in amusement. He watches his lover (Or should that be _boyfriend_? He definitely likes boyfriend a whole lot better) shrug off his robe, and he asks, “How was practice?”

“Not too brilliant.” Draco sighs, putting his Nimbus back in its usual spot against the wall. “The new additions to the Slytherin team may be a lot of things, but competent doesn’t seem to be one of them.”

Harry laughs. “Understatement of the year, Malfoy.”

Draco rolls his eyes and saunters over to the bed. “Git,” he says, and he leans down and kisses Harry softly.

Harry runs a hand through Draco’s hair, which is still a little damp from the shower he took earlier, and eagerly kisses him back.

“This is _much_ more fun than Quidditch,” Draco murmurs.

“I should bloody well hope so.” Harry chuckles. “Do you have a lot of homework?”

“Just a paper for Potions, but I already wrote it during Divination. Trelawney never noticed.”

“Fancy that,” Harry says and wraps his arms around Draco, kissing him deeply. “Get on the bed, would you?”

Draco gladly obliges. He climbs on top of Harry, straddling him. They kiss again and again and soon hands start to wander to now familiar places.

“Draco?” Harry whispers a little uncertainly.

“Hm?”

“Did you mean what you said this morning?”

“Hm? What?”

“About...” Harry nervously clears his throat. “About it being your turn next?”

“Of course.” Draco lifts up Harry’s T-shirt and starts kissing a trail across the boy’s stomach. “Why? Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” Harry lifts his arms, allowing Draco to pull his T-shirt over his head. “Not at all. I’m just…”

“What?”

“Well, I’m a little scared of hurting you.”

Draco starts to unbutton his own shirt. “You won’t,” he says dismissively.

“Oh? And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Believe it or not..." Draco drops his shirt onto the floor. “But I trust you. And besides, you seem to be a natural at pretty much anything you attempt. Why should this be any different?”

Harry smiles. “Careful, Malfoy,” he teases. “That was almost a compliment.” He runs his hands down Draco’s bare chest, relishing the sensation of satin-soft skin beneath his fingers. “So… um… do you want us to… um… do it… right now?”

“Yes. And please try not to make it sound like such a _chore_, Potter.”

“Um… sorry?”

“Shh. You talk far too much.”

Draco gets up from the bed and removes his remaining clothing.

Harry licks his lips and stares. Why can’t he ever stop staring?

“Well,” Draco says with a devious smile. “Shouldn’t you be following my example?”

“Um. Right.”

Harry strips off too, and quickly gets under the covers.

Grinning broadly, Draco joins him. He props himself up on one elbow and gives Harry a pointed look. “So?”

Harry smiles and holds out his arms.

Draco scoots closer. They resume their earlier snogging, and then Draco’s right hand travels downwards to wrap itself around Harry’s cock.

Harry groans in appreciation. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how incredible it feels when the two of them are together like this, skin on skin, Draco’s delicious mouth and talented fingers doing all these amazing things to him that make him moan and whimper and brokenly ask (almost beg) for more.

“I want you inside me,” Draco whispers hoarsely.

Harry swallows hard. He pulls away slightly, and asks, “How would you like to be.... I mean…?”

Draco runs a hand through his hair. “I could lie on my stomach?” he suggests.

“No. I… I want to see your face when we… If that’s alright?”

“That sounds really nice, actually.” Draco smiles. “I’ll get on my back then?”

Harry nods.

Draco rolls over. He takes a pillow, places it under his hips and he whispers an incantation.

Harry inhales sharply. He briefly studies his fingers, which are now slicked from whatever lubrication Draco’s spell put on them. Then he moves to sit between Draco’s legs. Carefully, he pushes his index finger inside Draco’s entrance. Then he adds his middle finger and starts to feel around, in search of the right spot.

Nothing seems to happen.

Completely lost at what to do next, Harry looks at his boyfriend questioningly.

“Try going a little deeper,” Draco says softly.

Harry nods. “Alright.” He pushes both fingers down at the same time, hard against soft flesh; and then he hears a deep, guttural groan.

“Guh. Yes. Right _there_.”

Harry smiles. He begins to scissor his fingers, occasionally pressing them down where he knows it’ll feel good.

Soon, Draco’s breathing is hard, and he's clearly enjoying himself.

Harry dips his head lower and slowly trails his tongue over the boy’s cock, tasting the salty pre-come that’s already gathering at the tip.

“Oh fuck.” Draco whimpers and bucks his hips forward.

Encouraged, Harry takes the hard length into his mouth, as far as it will go, and starts to suck on it lightly. At the same time, he increases the speed with which he’s moving his fingers.

Suddenly, Draco lets out a strangled moan. “Stop! Harry! Wait!”

Harry pulls back instantly, carefully retracting his fingers. “What’s wrong?” he asks worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Draco whispers. “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to come yet.” He sifts a hand through Harry’s hair. “Not before you’re inside me.”

“Oh. Are you ready then?”

Draco leans up and gently kisses Harry on the lips. “Oh yes,” he says. His tone is soft, but he sounds very determined all the same. “Get inside me, Potter. _Now._”

Harry gulps, the request (or is it a command?) sending a pleasant tingle up and down his spine. “Alright.”

He carefully positions his cock at Draco’s entrance and slowly pushes himself inside.

“Is this… okay?” he asks when he notices that his boyfriend’s expression seems a little pained.

Draco bites his lip. “Yeah,” he says. “Just… give me a minute to get used to the feeling.”

Harry nods. “Sure.” He wraps his right hand around Draco’s cock and starts to stroke slowly.

“Hmmm.”

“Good?”

“Yes. You can move now, I think.”

Harry nods. And then he does move, slowly thrusting back and forth, never letting go of Draco’s dick, his gaze never leaving the boy’s face.

He feels one of Draco’s hands grab his behind, while the other grips his left shoulder, and soon the two young men are moving together, falling into a rhythm that works for them both.

Gradually, their breathing becomes more ragged and as if by mutual agreement, they pick up the pace. Harry thrusts harder, deeper, faster; frantically fisting Draco’s cock in time with his own thrusts.

“Oh fuck… yes…. Right _there_,” Draco all but screams. “Guh! _Harry_…” He throws his head back and comes.

And Harry’s suddenly very happy that he’s able to see his boyfriend’s face, unguarded and contorted in bliss. “You’re so beautiful, Draco,” he whispers, raining kisses all over the boy’s cheeks. “God. I love you.”

Two more hard thrusts are all it takes before Harry reaches completion too, moaning deeply and crying out Draco’s name.

“Wow,” is all he can say when he finally pulls out, rolls off his boyfriend and sinks back into the pillows.

“Hm,” Draco murmurs. “That just about covers it.” He reaches out and takes Harry’s hand.

Smiling, Harry intertwines their fingers.

For a few minutes the room is silent, save from the sound of laboured breathing slowly turning back to normal.

Draco rolls on his side and casts a cleaning spell on them both. “It’s a good thing we’re wizards,” he says. “I’m too tired to take another shower right now.”

Harry looks at him through lidded eyes. “Hm. Me too.”

Draco leans over for another kiss. “Did you mean what you said?” he enquires softly.

“What?” Harry asks, still feeling somewhat dazed. Then it suddenly dawns on him what he blurted out earlier, in the heat of the moment.

_I love you._

He bites his lip. He isn’t going to lie. He _can’t_. “Yes,” he says. “I meant it. I _mean_ it.”

Draco trails his index finger over Harry’s face, slowly tracing Harry’s lips, nose and jaw line, as if he’s trying to etch their shapes into his memory. “I’m glad,” he finally says, “because I think I might love you too.”

Harry gazes into Draco’s eyes. “So now what?” He’s almost afraid to ask. “Where do we go from here?”

Draco shrugs. “The hero kills the villain and we all live happily ever after?”

Harry grins, suddenly feeling relieved and happy (very happy), because he understands the sentiment behind the jest. He’s heard the words even though they haven’t been spoken.

Draco has made his choice. He’s not joining the Death Eaters. He’s not going anywhere.

“Shouldn’t I rescue a damsel in distress too?” Harry asks, keeping the mood light and forcing himself not to get sentimental.

“No,” Draco says flatly, sounding quite serious. “No girls for you, Potter. And no other boys either, now that we’re on the subject.”

Harry laughs. “Right back at you, Malfoy,” he says, and then he asks, after a few moments of happy, companionable silence, “We’ll be alright, though, won’t be?”

Draco smirks. “With my looks and brains and your seemingly never ending supply of dumb luck, Potter, I think we’ll be more than merely _alright_. Don’t you?”

And truthfully, there are a lot of things Harry could say to that, most of them related to Malfoy arrogance (of which there apparently is no shortage either), but when he looks into grey eyes that are sparkling with mischief and humor and something he now clearly recognizes as affection, Harry decides he’d much rather just kiss Draco again instead.


End file.
